As soon as I came hither this evening, no less than ten people produced the following poem, which they all reported was sent to each of them by the penny post from an unknown hand.  All the battle-writers in the room were in debate, who could be the author of a piece so martially written; and everybody applauded the address and skill of the author, in calling it a Postscript:  it being the nature of a postscript to contain something very material which was forgotten, or not clearly expressed in the letter itself.  Thus, the verses being occasioned by a march without beat of drum, and that circumstance being no ways taken notice of in any of the stanzas, the author calls it a postscript; not that it is a postscript, but figuratively, because it wants a postscript.  Common writers, when what they mean is not expressed in the book itself, supply it by a preface; but a postscript seems to me the more just way of apology; because otherwise a man makes an excuse before the offence is committed.  All the heroic poets were guessed at for its author; but though we could not find out his name, yet one repeated a couplet in “Hudibras” which spoke his qualifications: 

    "I’ th’ midst of all this warlike rabble,
    Crowdero marched, expert and able"[445]

The poem is admirably suited to the occasion:  for to write without discovering your meaning, bears a just resemblance to marching without beat of drum.

#On the March to Tournay without Beat of Drum.#

#The Brussels POSTSCRIPT.#[446]

      Could I with plainest words express
      That great man’s wonderful address,
    His penetration, and his towering thought;
      It would the gazing world surprise,
      To see one man at all times wise,
    To view the wonders he with ease has wrought.

      Refining schemes approach his mind,
      Like breezes of a southern wind,
    To temperate a sultry glorious day;
      Whose fannings, with an useful pride,
      Its mighty heat doth softly guide,
    And having cleared the air, glide silently away.

      Thus his immensity of thought
      Is deeply formed, and gently wrought,
    His temper always softening life’s disease;
      That Fortune, when she does intend
      To rudely frown, she turns his friend,
    Admires his judgment, and applauds his ease.

    His great address in this design,
      Does now, and will for ever shine,
    And wants a Waller but to do him right: 
      The whole amusement was so strong,
      Like fate he doomed them to be wrong,
    And Tournay’s took by a peculiar sleight.

      Thus, madam, all mankind behold
      Your vast ascendant, not by gold,
    But by your wisdom, and your pious life;
      Your aim no more than to destroy
      That which does Europe’s ease annoy,
    And supersede a reign of shame and strife.